


How It Started

by coolasdicks



Series: Mindless [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Blood, Gen, Self Harm, first part has just intro, rest is with the guys, this fic was actually written a while ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:24:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1893816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolasdicks/pseuds/coolasdicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Michael started hurting himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How It Started

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARM
> 
> Yeah, that's basically all this is, guys. 
> 
> First part is literally how it started. From now on, however, will just be random fics that come when I feel like writing them.

Michael could recount the first time he did it with startling accuracy.

It was after a bad day, it always was. After a day full of general irritability and terrible insecurities racking his mind, the final push that sent him over the ledge had been nothing horribly traumatic – just Geoff expressing his disappointment in the redhead with sighs and short, choppy answers. It was nothing new, Michael had thought bitterly.

He stayed late at work that day, not looking forward to his empty, cold apartment, where the blank walls taunted him and the silent blanket sat heavy over the entire, too-big space. The Achievement Hunter office was home, where the green walls welcomed him and the organized chaos of the five desks made it feel lived it.

The rest of the Hunters had gone home hours ago, leaving Michael to scroll mindlessly on a few different media websites, doing the best he could to avoid having to leave. He wished it was the next day already, the mornings where each Hunter would come in one by one, all sleepy greetings and clumsy hands.

Pictures upon pictures, posts upon posts, and there was only one that Michael _really_ saw. His finger froze on the mouse, his throat suddenly coated in cotton as he stared at the screen, the image burned into his retinas. It was a GIF, black and white but Michael could fill in the colors with pale skin tones and vibrant, juicy reds. Even the silver of the blade, could feel the coldness of the metal against his fingertips as the image replayed over and over and over.

_Slice._

Again and again. A slow drag across the grayed skin, a thin line drawn pretty and delicate as if the edge was coated with ink, until the small score began to bead with dark pearls. Blood, sweet, bitter blood would wet the skin as the razor was pulled out of frame. And then the image reset, the skin intact and undamaged and scar-free. Emotionally vacant.

His fingers twitched as he stared, utterly fascinated. He wondered if his skin would mark up as neatly as that, would create such a beautifully hideous piece of art. Would his hands shake as they clutched the blade, or would they be steady and thorough? Would the blood run down his arms and pool in cupped hands, or would it leave unsettling puddles under his wrists?

Would he feel something?

He was almost unaware of his actions as he rifled through his desk drawer, finally pulling out a small pencil sharpener, it’s pink plastic and shiny metal seeming to mock him as he pried to two apart.

Uncertainty held him back, the edge of the blade resting on the pale skin of his arm but unable to dig deeper. The cold press helped regardless, his beating heart speeding up as if to convince him that it wasn’t necessary. His lungs only permitted shallow breathes, the airy gasps sounding slightly hysteric to his ears.

He didn’t do it.

Watching the GIF calmed the rising tempo of his body, his heart relaxing as his fingers let go of the blade, where it sat heavily on the inside of his wrist. His breaths slowed, and if he closed his eyes, he could see the image in his head and feel his heartbeat match up with the  _slice slice slice._ Almost like music, a harmony and melody Michael could fall asleep to.

He didn’t go home that night. Storing the small razor back into the desk drawer, he turned off his computers and spread out on the couch, the cushions smelling faintly of Ryan’s cologne and sweet-smelling fabric softener. He buried his nose shamelessly into the scent and breathed it in, the thought of his friends calming his frenzied mind enough to where rational thought began to smother the panic.

_What was I about to do to myself?_


End file.
